


On this Earth

by Alcibiades (WoodcarverQing), WoodcarverQing



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-11 14:45:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8988703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoodcarverQing/pseuds/Alcibiades, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoodcarverQing/pseuds/WoodcarverQing
Summary: An account of the relationship between Fareeha and Angela."And so she took more steps, each equally deliberate and equally worthwhile.If she were to turn around, as she had done every few minutes, she would again find the white landscape, broken by trees and stitched by footprints - a trail whose path was carved only by her." Rated Mature for strong language only.





	1. Shared Directive

_Back out of all this now too much for us,_

_Back in a time made simple by the loss_

_Of detail, burned, dissolved, and broken off_

_Like graveyard marble sculpture in the weather,_

_There is a house that is no more a house_

_Upon a farm that is no more a farm_

_And in a town that is no more a town..._

 

\- Robert Frost, _Directive_

 

Angela Ziegler wrested her tired eyes away from the screen, finding solace in the in-between. She had just finished her third lecture in a series by one of her colleagues at the University of Zurich, and in a subject she had neglected for too long. She wondered what Dr. Koehl would make of this neglect. _Probably would be less than impressed._ In reciprocation for his unwanted hospital shifts that Dr. Ziegler would inevitably cover, Dr. Koehl had made every one of his lectures on the latest in cellular neurobiology available to her. Both doctors had been pulled different directions, each avoiding the other half of their two-part obligations. Dr. Koehl, who although was proficient at translating the theoretical knowledge of his discipline into practical efforts, preferred the tranquility of the classroom to the rigor of the hospital. Dr. Ziegler, on the other hand, was oddly eager to spend all the time she could away from any possible lecturing. At least, that was how it looked to her colleagues.

Eyes adjusting to non-electronic sources of light, Angela glanced out the thin, rectangular slit of glass that bisected the top half of the wall from the bottom. A burnt orange sky cast long shadows, the hard sheets of ice that coated the ground no longer reflecting dangerous amounts of sunlight.

“Where has the time gone…” she mused under her breath. It shouldn’t have surprised her, really; days like this had comprised the last few weeks. Although she was aware of the pattern on an abstract level, it failed to make the time lost any less jarring. Nevertheless, she reasoned it was about four in the afternoon, which meant that she had a good nine hours left in the day to work with. It would probably be enough to finish the rest of Dr. Koehl’s lectures and get a substantial start on the synthesis of a new batch of nanties. Neurobiology wasn’t her strongest area, but nanotechnology was a different story. Her colleagues would often joke that Angela really could speak four languages, German, French, English, and nanobiotechnology - an accusation that Angela would wave off with a giggle. If languages were counted by scientific proficiency, she would respond, every doctor present would have equally amazing linguistic accomplishments.

Pulling her thoughts down to the present, she was confronted with a dull headache. Considering the time, it made sense; her old adversary “caffeine addiction” had decided to rouse within her again. Her last cup of coffee was at lunch, and that was a good four hours ago. Consequently, if she was to maximize her efficiency for the rest of the day, she would need to dose caffeine now and once again in about four hours. Checking her ceramic mug and frowning at the results, Angela pushed her chair out and stood up.

The coffee machine located in the medbay’s kitchenette was the feature for which Angela was the most thankful. Of course the medbay, which operated as arguably the most primary function of Angela’s many duties within Overwatch, was spared no expense. But that was to be expected; how could an organization funded from such large pockets overlook a key duty of one of its commanding members? What wasn’t expected, however, was the coffee machine. Her lab at the University of Zurich had accustomed her to state-of-the-art medical research equipment, but regrettably also acquainted her with bland, drip coffee.

As soon as her mug entered the vicinity of the coffee machine, she heard the tell-tale signs of the beans grinding and water pressurising. It would be only fifteen seconds until she would have her fix. She felt her body lean against the nearby counter, the separation from her workstation leaving her mind rather empty. These delays where she was forced to be concrete in thought left her uncomfortable. Any time spent disconnected from her carefully furnished and easily navigable internal world she considered lost time.

A few seconds later, after her eyes had settled on an indiscernible point somewhere in the cold Siberian tundra far beyond their temporary lodging, she became aware of some type of commotion outside the room. She could see a significant amount of the hallway from her position in the kitchenette, and guessed that it must have been coming from the common room down the hall. Either due to some minor curiosity or an unacknowledged desire to see the face of another human, she reached for her freshly brewed cup of rich brown liquid and walked towards the voices. Before she had completely left the doorway, however, she reprimanded herself for not checking her appearance for presentability. Glancing at the mirror across the room, she passed over her image. A figure dressed in standard issue grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt topped off by tousled blonde hair met her gaze. She found it an acceptable look, if not attractive in a bookish way. _It will do,_ she thought, adjusting her shirt a final time.

As she rounded the the corner into the common room, she was caught off guard by an unexpected amount of energy resonating throughout the room.

“Coffee at five? You planning a late night?” She glanced towards a chair near the edge of the social circle occupied by a grinning Jesse McCree. _So it really is that late._ She figured she should probably match Jesse’s apparent enthusiasm.

“As if a night with you guys is anything but a late night.” She offered, smirk evident.

“Hey now, you mean to imply we would purposefully compromise the sleep of our most esteemed _Chief_ of Medical Research?” Jesse drawled as his smile spanned his face, more than glad to have found a willing partner with which to practice his repartee. He probably thought his verbal barbs hit as hard as his bullets. Angela put on a look of subtle insult tempered with a grin.

“I imply nothing of the sort, I merely note a pattern of occurrences. One that I willingly engage in.” Angela retorted, easily matching his faux-elevated diction. She took a spot on the cozy white couch next to Reinhardt, who appeared to be querying Torbjörn about the local weather patterns. “Besides, we both know my official title is a bit...drastic.” Jesse nodded contentedly, pacified for now. She glanced around the room, taking stock of the situation. It was rare to see so many members of Overwatch in the same room, as conflicting schedules left most gatherings small and quiet. There was one clue, though, as to the uniting feature of the event. Located at the center of the gathering, next to a few odd parchment-wrapped boxes, was a girl.

“Fareeha, darling, thank the doctor for coming to your party!” Ana Amari requested, nodding in Angela’s direction. _Party...Fareeha...ah of course_. The party must have been a few days earlier than she previously thought. Angela reasoned that Ana was probably behind the large turnout; she could be very convincing when she needed to, and it was becoming increasingly clear that the only people Fareeha saw often enough to become friends with were Ana’s fellow Overwatch members. Her gaze turned towards the cross-legged brown eyed girl. A clean smile sat below features that were just beginning to lose the softness of youth; hints of the contouring effects of rising cheekbones surfaced from tan skin. A mess of hair somewhere between brown and black fell loosely around her face, lightly dusting her shoulders - a last remnant of childhood contrasting with early adolescence.

“Thanks for coming, Mercy!” The smile said.

“My pleasure, thirteen is a big year!” She paused in consideration, “Actually, I’ll be right back. I have something for you.” Angela replied, pensiveness coloring her speech. The smile opposite her widened. If she kept that up, Angela thought, the smile would shortly be requesting permanent residency. It wasn’t an unwelcome sight, though, Angela decided as she rose to her feet and left the common room; Fareeha needed nights like these. And it were nights like these that she hoped Fareeha wouldn’t soon forget.

The door to her sleeping quarters opened soundlessly, and she made quick work of  rummaging beneath her bed. Safely tucked beneath a folded comforter was small wooden box, kept hidden from prying eyes. It was owed a certain respect, Angela knew, a respect that warranted protection from the ordinary.

* * *

 

 

_Six Months Ago_

 

The heat hung in the air like a sour conversation. Even those raised in similar climates, though they generally fared better, had admitted this week had been particularly unaccommodating. Angela was not one of those fortunate few. Pushing the door closed as quickly as possible to preserve as much slightly-less-hot air as she could, Angela wished for the wind of the alps.

She navigated the corridor with as much ease as her parched lips could muster, finding their store of food and drink less quickly than desired. Overwatch never failed to provide rations appropriate to their location, and their current desert outpost had made the provided iced tea a prized commodity. Of course their local shortage could have been avoided simply by frequenting the nearby market. That was, unless the perpetual blanket of heat hadn’t occupied the area.

The cool liquid spread across her wanting lips, relief eliciting a sigh. For all the discomfort the heat caused, it sure knew how to make a glass of iced tea taste heavenly. Taking a seat in an unnaturally warm chair, Angela had on her mind only rest. Another long meeting with the local Non-Governmental Organization had proven more unhelpful than not. She hadn’t much luck with NGOs in the past, and had tempered her expectations respectively. Nevertheless, even tempered expectations did little to combat the coarse exhaustion of prolonged negotiation. The regional director had denied Overwatch access to their humanitarian data, citing security reasons. As tactfully as Angela could manage, she informed the director that the security Overwatch consistently provided to their partners in aid was unmatched. Still, the denial stuck.

This was a more frequent occurrence now than it was some years ago, Angela was sure. Although she was only a young girl at the time, far removed from the sharp realities of service, she remembered tasting the palpable optimism surrounding Overwatch. It was held up as a bastion of cooperation that transcended geopolitical rifts, proof that in some cases reality could match the ideal. The childhood dreams of many current members could be traced back to such stories.

Overwatch gave as inheritance what it could to its newest members, like Angela and Jesse. But as inevitably as the turn of day to night, Overwatch’s influenced waned. Time spent under the light of the press, basking in its successes, began to yield less than optimistic information. Accusations of minor impropriety turned to accusations of corruption, and although many were levied from a healthy interest in transparency, others had the direct intention of Overwatch’s downfall. As much as Angela tried to force these thoughts into the ether of her subconscious, the sun was setting on Overwatch and twilight would soon be upon them.

Angela’s cup was empty, the last of the ice tinkling in protest against their eventual thaw. Perhaps, now, her workstation would be cool enough to allow for productivity. Bracing her feet against the tiled floor, she bid farewell to rest and began her walk to the medbay. The light padding of her feet, however, was greeted by the muted sounds of a movie. It must have been an emotional scene, she figured, the crying was unhindered and raw. Intrigued, she sought out the source of the sound, curious as to which Overwatch member she could attribute a new love of sentimental movies. Her efforts brought her to the chambers of none other than a certain Ana Amari. Standing flush against the door, Angela’s curiosity ceded to confusion. She hadn’t pegged Ana for the movie type at all, let alone the apparently mushy one she was watching. Moreover, this was a _long_ scene.

Angela watched as her hands opened the door on their own volition. She knew what she would find, her inquiry becoming mere confirmation. Sitting on the corner of a bed, shrouded by heavy dark air, was a very real Ana crying very real tears. The slump of her shoulders didn’t answer to the widening blade of light allowed by the opening door.

“Ana…” She tried, tone unsure. Tired eyes met her own, fatigue had drained them of any resistance to the pain. The sight hit Angela like a brick, a thick heat rising in the back of her throat. She was young, but grief was something that Angela knew. And so Angela acted on instinct, and sat beside the defeated figure of the warrior she respected so much, a comforting hand finding its place on the broad of her back. Upon the acceptance that Angela was going to stay, Ana’s temporary composure was again lost as a new bout of sobbing broke free. Trembling hands pulled away a damp strand of hair from her face, gesticulating in frustration.

“I...I don-...I don’t…” Ana started, trying and failing to force speech between the tears. Angela waited. “I don’t know what to do..I...I don’t know what I am doing wrong!” Cadence and inflection varied, Ana turned to face her again, eyes pleading.

“Mmhmm” Angela coaxed, struggling to retain a hold on her own emotions. A large sigh quaked through Ana’s body.

“I know how to fight, I...I know how to kill a person…” She continues, exasperated, “But I can’t even raise my daughter.” Angela looked down to Ana’s lap, where she emphasized a clutched datapad. Angela squinted down at the text displayed on the screen, any concern about intrusiveness absent. From what she could discern in the dark, a message chain was shown. There were no names, but if context and style of diction offered any clue, the messages were sent between Fareeha and one of her friends. She didn’t read it all, and probably couldn’t have if she’d tried, but the just of it was clear.

The closing sentence of Fareeha’s last message simply read “ _I just wish I had a different mom_.”

Angela’s brow tightened in a final attempt to stymie tears, nodding slowly.

“I can’t even be a mother,” Ana starts, bitter mocking surging through her voice, “Oh but it’s fine, because I can _fucking fight.”_

* * *

 

_Present Day_

 

Having found what she needed, Angela closed the wooden box and placed it back beneath her bed, away from the gaze of the unrespecting. _Have solace again_. Envelope in hand, she made her way to the hall, the door sealing shut behind her. Laughter and merriment became louder as her progress down the hall quickened. Conversations played over one another, losing all comprehension but retaining the volume. It was only when Angela approached the door with her coffee and card in hand, relaxing against the frame, that she was able to appreciate the scene.

The dance of firelight and shadow cast a living reflection of the life in the room. Fareeha, laughing, had launched herself onto Reinhardt’s massive back, who promptly flung her over his shoulder and set her upside down on the couch. The ensuing giggling soon had them indisposed. Ana and Jesse, casting occasional glances at their more energetic friends, let the resounding enjoyment mask their own; their conversation was known only to the decorated tree in the corner of the room. The evening had taken on its own blissful aura, one that all contributed to but nevertheless went unacknowledged. Looking back, it would be remembered fondly.

“So,” Reinhardt started, looking to Fareeha at his left. Her legs spread over the couch’s backrest, head falling off the seat cushion; their antics had left them needing a break. “You’re a teenager now. How does it feel?”

“I’m a teenager? You should tell my mom, I don’t think she knows yet.” Fareeha shot a half-playful glance at Ana. After throwing Jesse a raised eyebrow, she accepted the challenge. Ascending, Ana traipsed over to her daughter, ruffling her hair and pinching her cheek.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you. I was too distracted by how adorable you are.” Ana drolled, voice devolving into baby-talk. Fareeha groaned, eliciting guilty cackling from Ana.

“I’d be eighteen and you’d still treat me the same.” Fareeha grumbled.

“Well, yes, you’ll always be my precious girl.” Ana kept up the truthful ruse, grinning as she wrapped her arm around her now upright daughter’s shoulder.

Angela realized she had been smiling, still the unnoticed observer hesitating at the border between the meaningless and the meaningful. Adjusting the warm mug in her hands to chase away night’s icy reaches, she watched the mother and daughter, laughing now, united in imperfection. She watched as their details faded into generalities, form losing content. Maybe the girl didn’t have black hair, but a pure, white, blonde. Perhaps the mother was a bit shorter, sharing the daughter’s hair and striking blue eyes. Maybe in this world, instead of a birthday party, it was just another night at home - the mother returning from a long nursing shift, daughter happy only to be able to share a night in her presence. The mother would lift her into a tight embrace, hair pressed shoulder to shoulder, and whisper into her ear.

“ _Meine_ _Süße,_ ” she would say “ _meine kleine Angela”_

Angela watched as it played out in front of her, almost real enough that she felt the desire to reach out and call to them. But that was another world, not this one. This world held only Ana and Fareeha, who had both taken to fixing the beads on one of Fareeha’s strands of hair. Nevertheless, Angela decided this world - now, in this moment, all the love and friendship set in stone by firelight - this world was not any worse.

“Angela…?”

“Oh, yes?” she stammered, caught in her conceits. Ana was staring at her, hands still deftly engaged with a black strand of hair.

“Come and join us.” She said pleasantly, her head nodding towards an open cushion.

“Of course.” Maneuvering around the coffee table to her destination, Ana’s gaze took on a quizzical bent.

“...Are you alright?” She requested more softly.

Angela released a pent-up breath, “Yes...I am. Thanks.” Ana nodded once. The evening resumed, and Angela found herself unaware of the passing time. Conversation bounced from topic to topic, finally settling on the pile of wrapped boxes next to Fareeha. One by one, presents were opened and thanks were given, Fareeha quickly accumulating a pile of gifts. Reinhardt’s laugh was practically a bellow as Fareeha pulled out his gift of the goofiest posters Angela had ever seen (of Reinhardt himself, of course) signed “ _To my most favorite teammate and ardent supporter, Pharah_.” Fareeha reddened at the use of her childhood callsign.

“That photo was taken just for you, I’ll have you know!” He roared in the only volume he knew; loud.

“It’s great, I’ll put it up as soon as I can! Thank you.” Fareeha replied. Angela had been impressed, each gift was greeted with genuine appreciation.

“Well, it looks like that was the last of them.” Ana sighed, hands patting her thighs while gazing a final time around the paper-strewn floor. She turned to face Fareeha, head inclined and smiling, “Well, habibti, happy birthday.” Fareeha returned the smile, hands still searching through the wrapping paper after an unknown item. Her query returned empty, and she cast a searching glance towards Angela before quickly shifting her gaze elsewhere. Although she still matched the cheer of the group, Angela saw a tinge of disappointment coat her expression. She felt her body tense, unaccustomed to the intentional saddening of another. It would soon be fixed, she reminded herself, once the attention of the group left her enough room.

Angela watched Jesse, from his seat near the tree, lean closer to the center of the group.

“Time for an evening pick-me-up?” He held aloft a bottle of whiskey, glint in his eye. “Any takers?” Ana snorted, meandering her way to the table.

“This is my daughter’s _thirteenth_ birthday party, and you see fit to celebrate with alcohol? You sure are taking advantage of the loose drinking laws here, are you not?” Ana jested, pouring herself a conservative amount. “Your own country does not even think you are old enough to drink.”

“The America _I_ know has no drinking age.” Jesse smirked self-awarely. Ana’s eye-roll carried her out of the conversation. Eyebrows raised, Jesse gestured an empty glass towards Angela in question. She thought she could sense a hint of disappointment break through his otherwise cool demeanor when she declined, waving a palm and a smile. There would be other nights for that.

Fareeha, not knowing how to navigate the subject at hand, remained seated on the floor in quiet observation. She had become a bit more removed from the flow of the night, Angela figured, noticing how her hands fiddled with a golden ribbon. She leaned closer to the cross-legged figure.

“Fareeha,” Angela whispered, lips parted pleasantly. The girl’s face was pulled away from her extremely important ribbon business. Angela delicately reached out a pale arm, hand open in invitation. “Follow me?” Eyes examining both outstretched hand and steady face, Fareeha soon accepted, smaller hand reaching out in approval. Angela stood up, leading them unnoticed to a corner of the room caught halfway between flickering light and shadow. Bending down to one knee, Angela took time to examine the open expression across from her. There was no smirk, no annoyance, just a patient, inquisitive gaze.

“Sorry about waiting, I…” Angela paused, planning the best approach, before continuing slowly “I wanted to give this to you, just you, away from the rest.” Angela held out a worn white envelope, dotted with stamps and postmarks; though preserved, it’s age was apparent. Fareeha’s eyes looked down, examining the fold of the paper inside. “This is one of the last letters my father sent me,” she resumed, voice struggling to remain steady, “I was a bit younger than you, maybe twelve or so. At that time I was at home, and I thought that I would be seeing him in a few weeks.” Fareeha’s fingers gingerly opened the trifold of the letter and gazed over the crisp handwriting.

 

_“My Angela,_

 

_It has been too long since I last saw you, I’m not sure how much more I can wait! We miss you more than you know. I spoke with your Aunt, and it looks like I may be able to arrange a video call this weekend when your mother and I have access to a computer. I know it’s sparse out here, but we think you would like it regardless. There is an unfamiliar beauty to the sand that I know you would enjoy._

_How are you? Will you have any free time this weekend to call? We hope things are well with you, I know that Eva can be overbearing sometimes. But she is only so out of love._

_I know we’ll be seeing you soon, but you were on our minds tonight. I just thought I’d take the time to write you and tell you that we are so proud of you, Angela. You are the light of our lives, you are all that we have on this Earth. Please know that we love you, and always will, no matter the circumstances._

 

_With all our hearts,_

_Dad (and mom!)_

 

Angela was sure she was losing composure, struggling to calm the quivering of her lower lip, but she pressed on. “I...I wish I could say that I responded, but I didn’t.” A heavy tear hit the floor. “I would give up so much to say that I did.” She looked into Fareeha’s eyes, now a bit watery. “I would give up _so much._ ” Becoming aware of the effect she was having on Fareeha, she looked away, letting out a sad laugh “I apologize, I didn’t mean to cry. I just…I wanted you to have this. Please, take care of it? It means a lot to me.” Fareeha sniffled, pulling her eyes off the parchment and nodding firmly. Angela smiled despite the teardrops pulling at her jawline. “And Fareeha?

“Yes?”

“Your mother loves you, the same way my parents loved me. It doesn’t always have to work out, but just know that she loves you.” Angela kept focused on the pooling, dark eyes opposite her, “I just ask that you appreciate it, for my sake. Sometimes the future has in store for us things we do not expect, so be thankful _now_ , while things are certain.” Fareeha nodded again, a tear trailing its way down her cheek. And somehow, there was no doubt; Angela knew she would.

 

_...I have kept hidden in the instep arch_

_Of an old cedar at the waterside_

_A broken drinking goblet like the Grail_

_Under a spell so the wrong ones can't find it,_

_So can't get saved, as Saint Mark says they mustn't._

_(I stole the goblet from the children's playhouse.)_

_Here are your waters and your watering place._

_Drink and be whole again beyond confusion._

  
Robert Frost, _Directive_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those unacquainted with German, the ß in Süße is basically a double 's', so it's pronounced "Süsse" instead of "Sübe". 'Sweetheart' is its English equivalent!
> 
> Thanks for reading, chapter 2 is already underway.


	2. Of Wind and Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Between the woods and frozen lake  
> The darkest evening of the year"
> 
> Fareeha wanders the woods.

_When I see birches bend to left and right_

_Across the lines of straighter darker trees,_

_I like to think some boy's been swinging them._

_But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay._

_Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them_

_Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning_

_After a rain. They click upon themselves_

_As the breeze rises, and turn many-coloured_

_As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel..._

\- Robert Frost, _Birches_

 

She slowly took a second step, and then a third, and fourth, arms raised to offer the balance she sought. Each step was individually valuable if only for the sound her boot made as it compacted the snow underneath. Fareeha found it funny how such a light substance could be changed so easily, and by such little effort on her part. And so she took more steps, each equally deliberate and equally worthwhile.

If she were to turn around, as she had done every few minutes, she would again find the white landscape, broken by trees and stitched by footprints - a trail whose path was carved only by her. And if she were then to focus her gaze on the thin barrier separating the white of the snow and the matte grey of the sky, she would just barely perceive the clean lines of her lodging. For a building, it did a remarkable job of being unobtrusive, leaving aesthetic superiority to the countryside.

Fareeha felt the nip of the breeze wrap over top the neckline of her windshell, the draft pulling away strands of wafting body heat. If she was being honest with herself, breaking in the jacket was a significant cause of her midday excursion. Of all the gifts she had received from her birthday earlier in the week, Torbjörn’s had been the most practical by far. As such, Fareeha had been keen to use it quickly. Still, the primary motivation for her wanderings fell on the fact that it simply had been too long since she last ventured outside.

To watch the shifting seasons dress the landscape had been one of the redeeming parts of their stay in the wilderness. Over the last few months, many hours had been spent tracing the small creek whose rough curve wrapped their lodging like a stiff ribbon wraps a present. The creek’s quiet murmur had kept her company through times when company was hard to find; it was more a friend than many. Now, trees bare and air bleak, the landscape wore only the white of the snow.

It was here that the atmosphere found its essence in the lack thereof. The woods were beautiful because of what they were not; here there were no artifices. The reach of humanity had not trespassed here, not yet. There was nothing manufactured by any force other than the steady passings of grass, leaf, and wood. The striped dance of the birches’ bark did not find its creation at the hands of any man or woman, nor the did the curling waves of smooth snow owe their existence to any maker.

These were things independent, things the existence and preservation of which did not rely on anything else. Left alone they would flourish all the greater, and be stronger for it. She wished to be like these things.

Arm outstretched, Fareeha’s fingers slid against the ice-coated bark, the warmth of her hand pulling water from ice. Often times she would wonder if the trees had personalities just like she did. And, if so, what would they say to her? What type of conversations would they have? Did the trees like being trees? What were the trees’ favorite seasons? She wasn’t sure, so although she knew it was childish, she would ask them these questions. Then she would pause and listen, imagining their varied responses. And if the day had been particularly long, or her thoughts particularly heavy, she would answer the questions she wished the trees would ask her. She found that the silence that followed rendered them better confidants than those she had known before. No judgment would meet her confessions, just empty, still air. The woods were valuable for what they were not.

Her frequent visits here were in jeopardy, though, and today the trees were confronted with fresh confessions. A new mission had stolen her mother away and left the same traces of resentment that had colored most of their relationship. The life of isolation her mother had chosen for Fareeha had again left her without her mother. She found the circularity of it all to be the most insulting; she was all too frequently deprived of the same person who unwillingly dragged her into the situation in the first place. Nevertheless, something was different this time around. Sure, the resentment was present, but it was matched with a sobering sense of recognition. As Fareeha had mulled over the events of the last few days, she had been led through a slow shift in perspective. Even now, if she focused, she could remember those small moments that although before had gone unnoticed, now stood out like a splash of color amidst grey. Just last week, the mission with which her mother was currently occupied threatened to interfere with her birthday party. Somehow, and after what Fareeha reasoned could only be a large exercise of her mother’s influence, the mission had suddenly been delayed by four days. Coincidentally, Fareeha’s birthday had been in three days. Like the others, the moment had lay hidden, under the guise of the expected, the taken-for-granted.

Any thanks that Fareeha now wished to give her mother had to wait, though, as most Overwatch agents were presently away. And so she had retreated again to the woods, where the landscape was large enough to house the battle of concerns that had crowded her mind. But today was not supposed to be a day tied up in thought, and past the quiet updates given to still air, Fareeha left such predilections untouched in the cluttered stores of her mind. Her walk through the woods had so far been pleasant, and imposing any further risk would be unnecessary.

Pulling her boots up foot by foot, clumped snow sliding off their tops, Fareeha plodded over to the base of a larger birch and sat against the trunk. Looking up, the thin branches of the tree carved their path through the grey sky. And although she couldn’t see it from her position directly underneath, she knew each branch was coated with a residual blanket of snow. Gazing still, Fareeha felt her eyes sharpen in search of something amiss. It was an intuitional urge, but her intuitions knew the woods and could be trusted. Attention consumed by the present, she heard the quiet whimpering of the breeze, now a bit stronger than before. Things were darker, and the snow had lost its mild lustre. The black of the birches’ bark was more apparent, and what had been only a minor difference between the white ground and the grey sky had increased in contrast, just by a bit.

It shouldn’t have been too late, Fareeha thought back to her departure, at the latest it should be noon. Yet the almost indiscernible increase in the energy of the wood could not be doubted. There was a storm coming, and she could feel it. Fareeha stood up quickly, for if the current trend was maintained, she would need all the time she had to get back to her lodging before the storm arrived in force.

She was at least forty minutes removed from her destination, that much she was sure of, and so she made haste in retracing her fresh footprints. Quickly fastening the sleeves and waistline of her jacket to its tightest configuration, she hoped her measly three layers would be enough to weather whatever the storm had in store for her.

But the weather was dependent on no thing; it’s decisions would manifest without regard for her safety. Already the air was colder, and the whip of the wind drove at her front as if to prevent her escape.The cards had been cast, Fareeha realized, and how they were being revealed. It was a race of progress, and for the for the next ten minutes she tried her best to match the storm’s. The going had been productive, and her feet had carried her deftly across the crunch of the ground. It was so odd to witness the sudden change in the mood of the forest, the same landscape with which she was so acquainted had been instantaneously redrawn as hostile. If she were to turn around, as she had done a minute ago in response to an eerie feeling of threat, she would again find the expanse of the deep forest behind her. The layers of trees stacked and stacked until no light could reach beyond. When she finally returned she would have to stoke the fire higher and warmer than before, and maybe she would make some hot chocolate. Images of fresh blankets and flickering flame carried her feet.

Passing the stony outcropping near the glade minutes ago had been an encouraging sign, her increased pace had paid off. Nevertheless, the wind now carried with it freezing spittle that stung her face, and if she hadn’t have known otherwise, she would have guessed it was nightfall. The darker, denser clouds, reaching further down to the ground to envelop Fareeha, left the landscape in unified shadow. She could feel the pressure of the atmosphere dampening the air. The circulating darkness became more bold in its aggression, encroaching further from the outskirts of her vision. What had she done to earn such a show of force? What was one girl against miles and miles of cold grey?

The hair that escaped from Fareeha’s hood and was plastered to her face now dripped with ice water, becoming fresh channels for the freezing rain. Walking had become harder over the last few minutes, the driving wind seemed antagonistic to her retreat. What had been fresh snow was now damp and unyielding. Still, Fareeha kept her pace, body inclined against the wind. If she could just maintain her speed, it would be enough. Nevertheless, with a morbid curiosity Fareeha observed the worsening conditions. If only she had had the prescience to see the seeds of such threat within the otherwise innocent beauty of the early morning, the sinister chill that lurked in the shade of the rocks and trees.

As time passed, the gravity of the situation made its presence known to Fareeha. Minor thoughts of determining when she would be back slowly lost ground to thoughts of survival. Trudging through the slush had soaked her boots with frigid water, her toes protesting the cold with sharp pangs. And though her jacket and pants were made for winter weather, the extreme of present circumstances was too much. If she somehow wasn’t able to return home, there was a good chance she would die from exposure.

But this was good, Fareeha thought. The panic could be tamed, as it was there for her survival. Perspective narrowing, she forced the adrenaline to work for her. Driving her legs forward still, she neglected the chill that was beginning to settle in her feet. Often she had wondered what the depths of the cold felt like, the point at which it was said that the sensation lost all detail and became nothing more than an intense, generic pain. And although what she felt was still manageable, she now saw the truth in the statement. Continuing like this for an indeterminate amount of time, she was faced with the growing reality of the situation. Either she was wrong about how long she had been walking back or she must have wandered out farther than she previously thought. Both options were equally disconcerting. So, in the interest of keeping hope alive, she told herself she was close. Close to making it home, close to the warmth of the fire and familiar faces.

Peering into the blanket of cloud and rain ahead of her, Fareeha could make out the first of two streams she would have to cross. Caught up in the energy of the storm, it rushed with fresh rain and the snow melt - white water overtaking stone. On a normal day, when the stream rested, safe passing could be made at most any point along the stream’s bank. If Fareeha had been feeling extra daring that day, a brisk run and smooth jump could dodge the water entirely. But now, with the increased flow, much of the bank she trusted for solid ground was swept up in the chaos of the water. There would be no easy trick today.

Glancing left, Fareeha knew her only chance of safe crossing lied in the boulder field upstream. The water was too fast-moving and cold to risk fording, and the large rocks it traveled through would offer raised footing necessary for traversing. The matter settled, Fareeha began to trail the bank, glancing cautiously down at the angry currents pelted by hard rain. She prayed the second stream would be easier to cross, another delay like this would only worsen her odds.

The even ground shortly gave way to broken terrain. The trees were more sparse here, they had shied away from infertile ground. As such, Fareeha knew she needed to be more careful. The infringing cold had cut all feeling from her feet, and gauging foot placement on the slippery rocks was an uncertain science. Balance shifting precisely to match her calculated steps, Fareeha navigated from boulder to boulder. The lack of light was having a worrisome effect on her ability to find sure footing, and her last few movements had been more risky than she would have desired. Pausing now, at an impasse on the border of the stream, Fareeha hazarded a look down past the black of her boulder. The slick of the rock descended until it was eaten by the flow of thick water. Fareeha couldn’t tell if the shudders that wracked her large exhale were from the cold or from fear.

Pulling her eyes up, she took stock of her prospective path across the stream. The first few steps could be made easily, as the nearby boulders offered close, flat footing. Her most troublesome area, though, looked to be the passing from the third boulder to the fourth. As she stood now, she was maybe five or six feet above the water. And though her path would initially keep her at that height, the fourth boulder and its brethren were precariously close to the surface of the stream. Moreover, the boulders were separated in distance as well as height by a channel of wind and water. If Fareeha wished to cross, she would have to reconcile that gap with a jump. With ample hesitation, Fareeha splayed her arms outward in balance and took her first step, boot landing solidly on the weathered stone. That was a good sign, Fareeha thought, exhaling some uncertainty.

And so she slowly took a second step, and then a third, and fourth, each finding value in the wet sound her boot gave as it made contact with the rock beneath. Fareeha found it disheartening how hard and unyielding the rock was against the force of her footfall. Still, she took more steps, each equally deliberate and equally necessary.

Soon what was easy was done, and Fareeha stood amidst swirling wind and rain, surveying the jump before her. Although she had been acquainted with the idea earlier, it had lacked the grim hook that pulled at her gut that was now giving her pause. She would have one chance at a square landing, one chance that would in large part determine the course of the next few hours. Fareeha looked behind her, taking into consideration the possibility of a moving start. The distance was short, and she concluded that she had three steps at maximum to generate momentum. Which nook in the rock, then, would provide her with the most certain anchor point from which to push off? Stepping forward, Fareeha observed the clefted exterior of the boulder, and slipped.

Foot sliding out from beneath her, Fareeha’s mind was flung into overdrive. She had less than a second to salvage what positioning she had before she began her tumble down into the racing stream below. Focusing her strength on her more stable foot, she sought purchase on the boulder’s face and with a cry of effort launched herself in the general vicinity of her destination. From the moment her body entered the air, she knew she had failed. Her haphazard launch had left her trajectory too far right, and her body was at too odd an angle. Bitter determination surfaced, stronger now in the face of defeat, and Fareeha twisted her body sideways. Tensing her her arms and abdomen in preparation for the impact, she swung a hopeful leg underneath her to absorb whatever force it could.

She heard the dry crack first, feeling only the raw contact of flesh on stone - thin lines of pressure and the shock of collision. But time brought with it pain that filled out the sensation, flooding around her ankle like the cold water. And flood it did, Fareeha had no control of the scream that raked her body. Looking down in search of the searing pain that burned against the chilled rock, she followed her leg into a crack between boulders. Although her body landed stably on right-hand side of the boulder, her left foot had battered against another rock, slid down its rough flank, and become lodged in a crevice. Gingerly retracting her leg brought with it fresh pain, and soon Fareeha felt a thick despair grasp her heart.  Leg pulled free and placed flat on the boulder, Fareeha rolled up her pant leg and untied her boot. The joint of her ankle had taken an ugly form, foot diverging from the line of her leg and instead choosing to bend almost backwards. Moving the leg gave Fareeha the unearthly sight of a limp foot held only by stretched skin and sinew.

As powerful as the pain was, the emptiness that now occupied Fareeha’s being had taken authority. Her vision swam as the revelation washed over her. The trek back would be extremely difficult, if not near impossible, with a broken ankle. She cast a desperate glance around her, pleading for some easy respite. As if to have deniability, the landscape retreated from the request into the gale of wind and water. Its quiet observation would offer no reprieve.

Fareeha sat on the boulder, caught in the sturdy grip of hopelessness. There was almost no further need to waste her time; maybe her energy would be better used finding a satisfactory place to die. These thoughts bubbled up in her head, beckoning her to fall into the stream to bring a quick end to things. It would numb her ankle and body into a painless passing. Nevertheless, she forced her foot back into its boot, ignoring both pain and pity. Bracing her chafed palms against the stone, she pushed her weight onto her unbroken, right foot and staggered onto flat ground. She did not look behind her.

After a considerable amount of effort, she met back up with the trail of footsteps she had been following earlier. Progress now was near nonexistent; Fareeha moved her legs as fast as she could, but they moved reluctantly. Her pace was easily a quarter of what it had been minutes ago, she had to guess, and every step of her left foot was met with grinding of bone and startling pain. If she was lucky, though, there would be a row of trees that she could use to gain a few steps free of agony. Hobbling now, Fareeha retraced her steps, eyes too exhausted to stare at anything but the apathetic movement of her feet. All form and distance melted into uniform white, and though her feet made the semblance of movement, what good would it make if it’s all the same?

It wasn’t much longer before Fareeha felt what lingering hope she had protected vanish into the white wind. Freezing rain had turned to flurries of snow that drove with equal force against her frame. The chill slowly crawling up her legs brought with it black dread, and she did not care to stifle her scream of anguish when she noticed the footprints guiding her path home starting to fill out with fresh snow. But she was close, she told herself. _I’m not going to make it, but I’m close._

The trees jeered at her, dark spires looming over her own haunched figure. The questions they now asked had no remnant of friendship. _How could you be so stupid to wander outside unprepared? Did you really think you would be safe here?_ Fareeha wished there was empty, still air to carry her answer and temper the trees’ betrayal. The trees, too, were things independent - independent of concern.

The howl of the wind had been given form, and she could track the churning vortexes of flake that flew in front of her. Her reality became the five feet surrounding her that was still visible through the passings of snow; beyond the white walls of air was only void. Suffocating her vision, the blizzard crept in - ruthless in its advance. At the edge of her thoughts, a guilty thread appeared. It first sat in the periphery, a persuasion only to smaller thoughts. A tinge on the edge of consciousness.

 _Your feet are so heavy,_ it called. Fareeha supposed it wasn’t wrong. _Notice the drag of your boots on the ground, feel how your body trembles from the cold._ Fareeha did notice these things. Braver now, the thought grew in strength.

 _Your muscles are so tight, they could use a break_ . The thought clouded her vision. _If you stopped and rested your ankle, you could relieve the pain._ Fareeha shook her head. She knew what it wanted, and she knew what obedience would mean, but her body would only remain loyal for so long. Soon it would act on its own accord.

Fareeha’s head raised and stared into the swirling canvas around her. For all she knew, she was walking in the wrong direction. In fact, there was no indication of direction at all; space had lost meaning. Looking down, her legs gave way, lowering her to her knees. She couldn’t tell if had told her legs to do this, they were too numb. Calling her leg to move, she watched her thigh’s pathetic attempt to raise itself from the mess of dirt and snow. It gave a weak shove, sliding her forward only a few inches. Repeating this, Fareeha’s forearms had taken to the ground, her crawl resembling that of a broken machine.

Fareeha tried to cry, but as soon as they were shed, her tears became indistinguishable from from the slush that coated her face. The path of her footprints leading back home were almost erased, she had maybe a minute left before they, too, were absorbed by the void. This was it, this was the end. This was how she would die - alone in nature unloving.

Maneuvering herself against a nearby rock, she exhaled and watched the heat that escaped her lips condense into steam. Her body constricted into itself, warding off all the environment that it could. Pulse throbbing in her ears, Fareeha’s half-lidded eyes fluttered in a desperate attempt to wick away the falling snow. If she had kept focused on the shifting wind, she would have seen small glimpses of trees. Merely shadows of darker white, they stood watch over her form. But this was not the case, and Fareeha’s body felt weighed down by some unknown mass. Focus on anything other than the images flashing across her mind was prohibited. The smile of her mother could not be overcome.

Though she could not see the trees, the sounds of their questions reminded her of their presence. Their mumblings mixed in with the swarm of faces and thoughts that surfaced and resurfaced. She would be led into the abyss by their persistent inquiry.

 _Fareeha..._ They beckoned. It sounded so real, and Fareeha’s body shifted in response. Delusion had become difficult to separate from reality. The mass of sound sung in her ears, the wail of the wind most prominent. The environment had pressed its advance and invaded her mind, there was no more space in between.

 _Fareeha!_ They called again, slightly louder than the surrounding cacophony. Though they were dulled by the storm, she heard pain drip from their voices. But she was confused, it wasn’t the nature of the trees to sound so concerned. What could they want of someone dying? They had no use of her. She wished them away, voice slurring.

“No...no…” Her whisperings too weak to pierce the howl of the wind. She would not allow such humiliation, such shame. Who taunts the death of the less fortunate? The chaos of the driving snow continued unbroken for many more seconds.

“Fareeha!”

Her eyes shot open. The ambient noise had given way to something artificial, for the force of the wind could not be broken by itself. She knew the woods and the trees inside it; they were unhindered by the reach of humanity. Yet the voice had shone like lone flame at night. Here humanity was, carving a path through the impartial winter storm. She could not help the resurgent hope that now beat in her chest. Fareeha’s final stores of adrenaline entering her system, she gathered all the air she could and pulled her sticky lips apart.

“Help...I’m here!” Her voice frayed and faltered, angry to be called back into use. “I’m over here!” Only the harsh wind responded, dragging at the vulnerable flame of her spirit. Perhaps she had been mistaken, maybe it was just the trees, teasing her with false futures. Dim phantasms of a better life. But again, the wind was broken.

“Fareeha!” The voice strained to be heard, but it was quieter now, muffled by more airborne snow. The reassurance she felt, however, knew no barriers. She was so close to survival, she wouldn’t let it escape again. Louder, she yelled a second time, her throat torn by frigid air. “Help!” She heard the hope interwoven in her voice, “Please help me!”

“Fareeha?!” The yell was coated in disbelief, emanating again from the white expanse “Fareeha is that you? Keep talking, where are you?” A sudden fervor was loosed within Fareeha that sat at the edge of impossibility. It couldn’t be, this had to be some elaborate ruse. Why would anyone be searching for her out here and in this weather? The lodge was near uninhabited, most occupants away on a mission. Yet someone had come, and they were close by.

“I’m here!” She returned, focusing only on the volume of her response, “I’m over here!” Her head swiveled in search of the voice. Sundry flake changed depth, currents of wind giving gradient to the white.

“I’m coming. Hold on, I’m almost there!” The voice begged, urgency apparent. It was a young voice, lilted and higher pitched, but nevertheless taken by sincerity. She knew the voice, it was so familiar. But the storm had advanced so far into her mind that such recall was prevented.

To Fareeha’s right, the pattern was broken. A shade moved counter to the prevailing wind, slowly gaining in size. Fareeha distrusted her eyes, this was impossible. Nevertheless, Fareeha’s hand reached outward, waving to signal the figure.

“Here! Over here!”

“I see you, I’m coming…” The voice was textured with mercy, and though Fareeha couldn’t make out the figure’s face, she knew what expression it wore. Nearer still, the slight figure ran against the wind, feet racing over varied ground. And though it was close enough now to discern detail, the form was obscured by a large down coat, fur caught by the changing wind. Approaching, the figure quickly knelt down and removed its hood, blue eyes slicing the air.

“Oh my god, Fareeha…” The girl surveyed her form, worry straining her features. Her hair tumbled down, alight with the touch of the sun and flaked wth snow. Fareeha was dumbstruck; she was saved. Like the glow of a fresh kindling on tired hands, the girl's face drew all suffering out of her. She forgot the cold and the ragged air. Alight again was the common flame of humanity that banished the whispers of the trees. She gazed at the face of her salvation, and though she knew it was a trick of the air, a faint halo of reflected light sat above her shimmering hair. She had made it. Mercy was here.

“Mercy, I’m so...cold.” The features across from her softened as Fareeha tried and failed to express the incommunicable. If only she knew the depths of despair carried on the backs of the winter wind. The chill that had captured her feet. The shred of jagged bone scraping skin. But Fareeha checked herself; Mercy had likely seen much worse. She must have understood.

“I know, I know…” Mercy’s gaze shifted from eye to eye in concern, hands rapidly wiping Fareeha’s wet hair behind her ear. Already Fareeha felt warmer, tender fingers pushing back the weather. She marveled at how easily the cold fled from the contact. Still, Mercy quickly removed her jacket, wrapping it around Fareeha’s back. She had on only a small sweater underneath, but Mercy didn’t appear to care. Her figure sat unmoved by the blizzard, a bulwark against the driving snow. How could she command such influence over the grey expanse? 

“Fareeha, can you stand?” She felt the warmth of Mercy’s palm rest on her cheek, “Can you stand for me?” Fareeha nodded her head, forcing her legs to move. Slowly she rose, sending away the dull cold that had taken her legs. Hand on Mercy’s shoulder, she took a step with her left foot and immediately collapsed, foot splayed unnaturally. Pain resurfaced, rending her ankle apart.

“Fareeha…” She started.

“No, I...I can walk.” Denial obvious even to herself, she watched Mercy’s brow furrow in pity. Her leg straining to rise again, Fareeha winced.

“Nonsense…” She whispered, looping her left arm under Fareeha’s knees and her right under the bend of her upper neck. Instinctively, Fareeha wrapped her left arm around Mercy’s neck, anchoring them together. She felt primal urgings of trust call her to surrender to the taller girl; and so Fareeha did, tying her life unconditionally to the arms that now held her.

Mercy shifted her balance and stood upright, and Fareeha felt a hand press her head to a soft chest. The rhythm of walking greeted Fareeha as they moved in opposition to the push of the wind. The storm had no power here, her steps did not wait for permission. Mercy’s arms tightened around her frame, steadying the trembling that wracked her body. Until now, she had not known it possible to be both helpless and safe at the same time. It seemed the two were bound together, her supplication in perfect accord with the comfort of trust. It had been so easy to just let go. 

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have….have come out here,” Fareeha stammered, eyes remorseful “I didn’t know it wou-”

“Shhh…you don’t need to apologize,” Mercy shook her head and answered her gaze, “it’s over now, you’re safe.” Fareeha’s mouth opened and closed in response, words escaping her.

She looked up and studied the face only inches away from her own. The gentle curve of pale cheekbones held up eyes both serious and compassionate. Thick locks of white-blonde hair swayed to and fro across her face, grim determination only leaving her features when she looked down to check on Fareeha. Each look of reassurance numbed more of the pain, and she kept her gaze locked on the blue eyes, eagerly awaiting the next glance, and the next after that.

“Shh, meine Süße. I’m here,” Mercy cooed. Fareeha felt warm sparks bounce around inside her. “You’re safe now. I’m right here.”

Wind still whipping at her face, the landscape slowly passed by her. Tree by tree and stone by stone. She wondered what the trees would ask now? Were they content with their indifference? Was it within their own choice? Did they enjoy being subject to the whim of the weather? But the storm had only given more strength to the tree’s root and softened the rock with passing rain. They would expect no leniency and give none in return. They were things independent, beholden to nothing. But Fareeha did not ask these questions, for she knew what would follow. She could already imagine the rough, loud air coating their answer. All things considered, they were bad conversationalists.

“Fareeha…?” She opened her eyes, pulled from the brink of exhaustion, “You don’t need to keep calling me Mercy.” She breathed, smile curved upwards. Fareeha curled closer, drawn in by the warmth of the larger body.

Somehow the wail of the storm was so distant now, even if it was only inches removed from the coat bundled around her head. It receded from her mind, expelled by the heat emanating from their unison. Her eyes drooped again, even the pain dripping from her ankle at every step could not stop her fatigue. Again, images flashed across the stage of her mind; faces and events played out before her. Smiling now, she listened to her mother's laugh resound. Slowly the blanket of unconsciousness crept in from the corners of her thoughts, removing the burden of cognition from her tired head. 

Her rest was fitful, and she was held on the brink of sleep, dreams intertwined with reality. Somewhere within the blur Fareeha became aware of a sudden heat and light that consumed her body, and though it would eventually yield to emptiness, she recognized the clean walls of their lodge. Her eyes, before closing a second time, found a smile framed by pale hair; and she was carried into slumber by the complete warmth that followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being/taking a bit longer than I originally expected.
> 
> Thank you to the few that left feedback and the many that read the first chapter/left kudos!


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